Classic Albums

Not only did it initiate Britpop and the Madchester scene, but The Stone Roses eponymous debut has occasionally been rated the greatest album of all time. Bursting with psychedelia, Beatlesque pop, funky dance tunes, tender love ballads, and jingly jangly guitarscapes, there’s something for everyone. Realising the gold mine they had on their hands, Silvertone released half the album as singles, but this shotgun approach has not diminished the album’s power one bit. ‘I Wanna Be Adored’ is one of the most powerful opening tracks ever, gradually building to an explosive orgasm of chiming guitars and chest-thumping bravado, not to mention Britpop’s typically self-centred braggadocio.

I confess, I’m not much of a Fleetwood Mac fan. Their limo driven, pseudo hippie decadence makes my skin crawl. Everything I couldn’t stand about the 70’s. The long hair. The beards. The coke. The football jerseys and flairs. Then there’s Stevie, with her ballet slippers, gypsy costumes and patchouli posturing. When it comes to 1977, I’m far more drawn to the likes of Television and The Clash. In terms of late 70’s Pop, give me Blondie or give me death. Which makes it even more ironic, that I simply adore the album, Rumours.

In a sense, this album The Modern Lovers by the like named group doesn’t actually exist, at least not as most albums ordinarily exist as an intentional act. The album on hand consists of nine reworked demos by the band, which at the time consisted of Jonathan Richman (lead vocals, guitar), Ernie Brooks (bass), Jerry Harrison (yes, that Jerry Harrison later of the Talking Heads on keyboards), and David Robinson (no, not that David Robinson that won two NBA titles, but the one that went on to join The Cars on drums).

This is it. When your friends ask you what’s all the fuss about “glam” and “glitter” rock, put this on and sit back and smile. All the signposts are here: simple melodies that stay in your head for days; misogynistic lyrics about ball-busting birds succumbing to the charms and sexual prowess of the electric warrior, Marc Bolan; introspective evaluations of our place in the universe, all delivered in a soupcon of blues, folks, rawk, and pedal-to-the-metal, foot-stomping bravado that’s rarely been equaled, certainly in the subsequent careers of fellow glitterati, Bowie, Ian Hunter, Gary Glitter, and Roy Wood’s Wizzard. Slade may have moved more product, but that was over an extended career of chart toppers.

While Underwater Moonlight might be the Soft Boys’ masterpiece, there is something to be said for their big bouncing brat of a debut. A monstrously brilliant hybrid of Psych and Punk. Open this can and it's more likely you’ll be hit by a swarm of Byrds. Not to mention, little worker bees with the heads of John, Paul, George and Ringo. You also might notice the Queen herself bears a striking resemblance to Syd Barrett. Toss the contents into a frying pan, sprinkle with a little Bob Dylan and you’ll detect an odorous whiff of Captain Beefheart arising from the pan.